The Long Road Home
by StreetxSpirit
Summary: Rhett brings Scarlett back to Tara during the Atlanta siege and then leaves to join the army, taking with him the memory of his true love and leaving memories of himself behind.
1. Chapter 1

**HULLO! This is a story I had started a while ago and posted on another site (so some of you may have read it). I never finished it due to the fact that I've had fan-fic-itis, and haven't had the creative energy or drive to write anything in...forever. So I'm posting it here, and hopefully if people like it, it will give me incentive to finish it. Ummm, it's losely based on Cold Mountain, which is a story I really like, at least the premise of it anyway, I hated the writing style of the book. So, some events have been changed and I've taken liberties with weaving fan fiction magic, lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and do let me know what you think. This first one is a short chapter.**

**oh! and PS, I know some of my LJ friends read stories here, so I just dove behind the couch because the cat's out of the bag. Yes, I'm Kendra, and I write fan fiction. Keep it on the DL.**

Scarlett stared at the black sky in front of them as the carriage rounded the turn that would bring them to Rough and Ready; her mind was in a state of shock. Behind them the fire, with flames so tall they licked the sky, still burned in the ravaged city of Atlanta. Oh, how could something like this have happened? How could that city which she had loved so much for its spontaneity and newness be laying in ruins in the span of just a few years? It was all too unreal for her, as if she was having a nightmare and the strong arm that she was clutching was the only thing that could salvage her soul from the blackness that threatened to consume her world.

Rhett Butler. It did not clear her mind to think of him, but she was so grateful that he was doing this for her—taking her back to Tara during the middle of a siege. She did not want to think about him per se, only that his presence was calming, and without his assistance she would still be in that city, more than likely awaiting her death when Sherman's army came and burned the roof over her head. She turned her tired eyes up to study his face which was set, as if in stone, looking straight ahead into the black night. Why was he doing this for her? It was the first time she let herself ask the question. Was it solely because she had asked him to, or was it something more? Her mind did not have the chance to wander much further because in the blink of an eye, his head snapped to the side and his dark eyes connected with hers.

"Scarlett, are you still determined to do this crazy thing?" he asked with slight amusement in his voice.

"Oh, yes, Rhett I know we can do it, I'm sure we can."

Scarlett thought she saw a flash of admiration in his eyes as he stared at her, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone again, replaced by that mocking smile she was so used to.

"As long as you're sure, my pet," he said smoothly with a wicked grin on his face which caused Scarlett to seethe inwardly, and she looked straight ahead as Rhett continued to maneuver the horse down the ravaged road. It would not be so long before they came to Tara now, and it was all she could think about. How good it would be to step foot in her own home again! What heaven it would be to see Ellen and Gerald and Mammy and to have a good meal and a soft bed to sleep in instead of this hard wagon seat.

The world was cloaked in the black shroud of night as the wagon started up the drive to the plantation. A cloud cover was blocking the moon and Scarlett strained her eyes in order to catch a glimpse of the outer white facade of the house. "I don't see it, Rhett!" She exclaimed nervously, "Is it still there?"

She made a move to get down from the wagon but Rhett's strong hand held her back. It would be no good for her to injure herself after they'd come all this way.

"Hold on," he instructed. Jumping down from the wagon, he walked around and offered to help Scarlett down. His grip on her arm lingered, and he was about to enquire what she wanted to do with Wade, Prissy, Melanie and her baby, when the clouds drifted from the face of the moon, lighting the rest of the driveway.

"It's still there!" Scarlett cried, wrenching herself free of his grasp, leaving Rhett and her dependants behind to watch as she ran toward the once majestic home.

She saw him standing in the entryway as she wearily trudged up the stairs. The look on his face was one of slight pity and obvious remorse, but she did not want anyone's pity. She couldn't handle pity tonight. Once inside her room she gingerly fished the one old nightgown out of her bag that Mammy had brought up when she first arrived. When Scarlett tried to undo the buttons on her dress she became acutely aware of the serious aches and pains that had been stored in her body over the rough journey home. Finally, she managed to get changed before wearily collapsing on the feather mattress and closing her eyes in a pathetic attempt at sleep. But as soon as her eyes closed the thoughts she had desperately attempted to push to the background of her mind came forth with a force so rapid she felt a burning sensation in her throat and her stomach coiled into a knot, causing hot tears to slowly course down her cheeks.

How could this have happened to her? She, Scarlett O'Hara, who had never known anything but the pleasantries of life, was now left to face such terrible desolation. Her father was trapped in the past—a past which his mind would most likely never let him escape; her sisters were on the brink of death in a room down the hall, and if she listened hard enough, their moans would sometimes rip through the silence surrounding her. Tara, her Pa's beloved Tara, was in ruins, and the one person who she had looked up to so much was gone forever. It seemed as if it were yesterday that she was in this very room dressing for the bar-b-que at Twelve Oaks, a girl of 16 again without a care in the world. She once thought she had nearly everything, and now she realized bitterly as she absently stared out the window into the moonlit night, she had nothing, and the feeling of loneliness was painful enough to make her faintly acknowledge that sleep would not come easy on this night.


	2. Chapter 2

After watching Scarlett ascend the stairs to her room, Rhett had gone into the study and tiredly sat down in one of the hard back chairs, stretching his long legs out in front of him and rubbing his large hands over his unshaven face to try and alleviate some of the fatigue. The house was silent as everyone, even Scarlett's father had retired for the night, and he sat in the darkness thinking of what he was doing there. He had agreed to bring her home; how could he have refused when she was actually counting on him alone? She was, after all, the reason he had come back to Atlanta often.

He had reached a decision on the long road to Tara, a decision he had not told Scarlett, partially because he did not want to upset her when she clearly had other things on her mind, and partially because he wanted to make sure she got home safely. He was going to join the army; the boys in gray making their last ditch effort to fight the overbearing foe. It was something he could not explain even to himself, and he knew Scarlett would have been angry if he had left her on the Road to Tara, and besides that, he very well knew that Scarlett's home could have been burned to the ground and she would have been left with Melanie and her baby and Prissy to wander alone, facing impending danger at every turn.

Scarlett could survive on her own, he knew this, but he had been just as unprepared as Scarlett for what they would find when they got here. He thought of her face as she exited the room where her mother lay dead from typhoid. It was white and void of any emotion, but he saw the trauma in her eyes, those beautiful emerald eyes that he could never get enough of. To say that her pain had not affected him in the slightest would have been a lie. He wanted to take her in his arms and whisk her away to any place that would make her forget that any of this had ever happened. But he couldn't, and thinking about it any more tonight wasn't going to do any good. What he needed now was rest, for he was leaving in the morning and he needed his wits about him. He slowly got up from the chair and made his way up the stairs to the room Mammy had graciously fixed up for him upon Scarlett's request.

The upstairs hallway was nearly pitch black save for a beam of moonlight that curiously attracted him to a cracked open door. Quietly creeping up to it with light steps, he cautiously looked to see who's room it was, and when he saw the silhouette of a woman curled up on top of the covers, he knew it was Scarlett's. Why had she left her door open, he wondered. Surely it was not an invitation for him to come visiting during the night, however tempting that would have been. He knew he should have kept walking, but curiosity got the best of him and he slowly pushed the door open, closing it without a sound behind him, and started toward Scarlett's seemingly sleeping form.

As he came closer he was startled to see that she was indeed not sleeping; her eyes were open, staring ahead of her, and in the moonlight he could see shimmering tear tracks on her pale cheeks. For a moment he stood drinking in the image of her still form on the bed, her hair still ruffled from the chignon she had worn it in earlier, as if she had been too tired to do anything about it, the shallow expansion of her ribcage as she breathed, and he was afraid to move lest he startle her. Slowly he came out of his reverie and made his way around the side of the canopy bed until he was nearly facing her. It was as if she did not see him at first, for she did not move. Then, as if she were awaking form a dream-like state, she blinked and her eyes connected with his in the dim light. Her reaction to him being there in the middle of the night, alone in her room with her, puzzled him greatly, for she neither screamed nor showed any hint of surprise. Instead she just lay there, staring at him with a hunted look in her eyes, and his heart ached for her. Gingerly he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear before wiping away a stray tear from her cheek with his right thumb. As his hand made contact with her warm skin, he watched as she closed her eyes and her face contorted as she tried to hold back a sob. Immediately he pulled his hand away from her face, but when she reached her hand up and grasped his, he immediately responded by leaning over and gathering her in his arms, bringing them both into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. She grasped his shirt as he pulled her onto his lap. How small delicate she was! And yet, he grasped her tightly, feeling the warmth of her skin through her thin nightgown, lightly touching her hair.

"Why, Rhett?" she whispered, and he knew she was talking about her mother, about her father and Tara and about being alone.

"I know, darling," he crooned softly into her ear. It was as if his words willed her to release all of the pent up anxiety, numbness and fatigue that she was feeling, for she suddenly sobbed into his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt as he held her head to his chest. They sat for what seemed like forever, until the silence became such that Rhett thought she had fallen asleep nestled in his arms. His lips lightly brushed the top of her head and he shifted her in his arms, but she slowly raised her head off of his shoulder, still grasping his shirt, and then stared into his dark eyes. He could feel the hammering of his heart in his chest as he searched her wide eyes for something he wasn't quite sure of. It only took the slightest movement of her head toward his before his heart lurched and he nervously leaned forward, softly brushing his lips against hers. He heard her take in a sharp breath, and he immediately pulled back to see her eyes closed as if expecting more. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him that he shouldn't be here, not when she was so vulnerable.

It was Scarlett who took the step he was hesitating to take. She opened her eyes quickly, and moving her left hand from his chest to his rough cheek, she leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth, causing any reservations he had before to flee his mind. She brought her other hand up to grasp his hair, parting her lips to let him deepen the kiss. Regaining the initiative, Rhett gently broke the kiss and moved his lips to her forehead before undoing the buttons on his shirt and easing them both down onto the bed so that they were laying side by side. Neither of them spoke as he reached out to run his large hand down the length of her body, feeling her shiver at his touch.

She watched his face as touched her, conscious of his hand on her body but even more aware of the sensation that this was what she needed to take her mind off of the events of the past few days. She was not afraid of him as she had thought she would be. Or had she ever fleetingly thought that one day she would be in this situation with Rhett? It did not matter in this moment as a curiosity to feel his skin washed over her. Gingerly she brought one hand up to his chest and pushed the fabric of his shirt off of his shoulder, running the tips of her fingers over the contours of the hard muscles on his arm and upper chest. Swiftly he sat up and shrugged his shirt all the way off, throwing it to the floor before laying back down beside her and continuing the roaming of his hand all the while silently telling her it was okay to touch him.

Scarlett inched closer to him on the bed as his hand found the hem of her nightgown and began moving slowly up her leg, her hip and over her stomach until his fingers brushed the underside of her breast. Her breathing became more rapid, as this was a new sensation to her. Charles had never touched her so delicately or with such feeling as Rhett was doing now, and when his thumb, with slight pressure, brushed over her hard nipple, her hands splayed on his chest and she let out a soft moan which prompted Rhett to kiss her again with passion while kneading her breast at the same time. This became nearly too much for Scarlett to bear, but she could think of nothing else beside the foreign throbbing sensation she was experiencing and the fact that she knew she wanted more. He shifted more on top of her, allowing room for her other arm to snake around him. With an agility she didn't know she possessed, Scarlett pulled him closer and ran her hands down his broad back, feeling his muscles move with agility as he continued his ministrations, until her fingertips found the waistband of his trousers. He broke the kiss and watched with anticipation as her hand moved between them to his belt and she tried, with minimal luck, to unbuckle it. He saw her brow furrow in frustration and he smiled softly before rolling over onto his back and removing his trousers himself.

When he was beside her again, Scarlett, for the first time that night, felt her cheeks burn with a sense of nervousness and shame. She was nervous because she had never quite been in this situation and certainly never with a man as intoxicating and capable of making her forget herself as Rhett. Shameful because they were not married, and all her life she had been taught that this was wrong. Rhett must have sensed her discomfort because he brought his hand up to trace her features with his fingers, kissing her softly and whispering that this was not wrong. After a night of emotional shock, his soft but deep voice calmed her unsettled heart, and she suddenly felt intensely drawn to him.

Scarlett tentatively wrapped her arm around his waist and he rolled on top of her, positioning himself between her legs. She was breathing sporadically beneath him and he could feel the heat emanating from both of their bodies.

"You're sure," he whispered, nipping at her pale neck. It was more as a statement than as a question. His head snapped up and his eyes sought hers as she brought her hands up to his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss. It was all the incentive he needed. He slowly entered her and both lay still for a moment, breathing heavily, and hearts hammering in anticipation.

Scarlett scanned his eyes in the darkness; he was making her feel better than she had in a long time; it was what she needed, she realized. This was different from anything she had experienced before, and the look of passion she saw written in his eyes, coupled with the heartache she had suffered earlier that night brought tears to her eyes. She wanted to be taken to another place. Bringing her arms around his shoulders, she lightly thrust her hips up to meet Rhett's as he began moving with her. They were careful not to make too much noise lest someone catch them in this forbidden moment, but as the minutes passed by and their passion grew, Rhett buried his head in her hair and grunted with expectation, tickling her ear with his hot breath which caused a tremor to shoot through her body and a stifled moan to escape her lips. She clung to him and their lips met again several times before the pressure she felt in her lower stomach made her shut her eyes tighter as Rhett erotically drove into her. On the brink of release she subconsciously dug her nails into his shoulders and brought her lips to his chest, not realizing that her steaming breath on his skin was nearly driving him into oblivion. Suddenly Rhett's mouth swooped down and his lips claimed hers once more in a sensual kiss that finally drove her over the edge. They traded the sighs of rapture, mouth to mouth, until they collapsed together on the bed in fatigue.

After lying still for a few minutes, the cool night air washed over their bodies and Rhett sat up briefly to pull the covers up, wrapping his right arm and the sheet around Scarlett's slightly trembling form. He couldn't believe what had transpired between them that night. It seemed almost surreal. He had wanted her for so long, and now that it had happened under such heavy circumstances, he was not quite sure what to think. He knew he would not have traded this moment for the world, and yet the decision he had made earlier in the night crept up on him unexpectedly. He had to leave, partly for his pride and now because he was not sure how Scarlett would react to their situation in the morning. She had been so eager tonight, as if she loved him without knowing it, but he knew that much of her desperation had to do with her mother's death and the life that she knew lay ahead of her. Oh, but he would give anything to whisk her away if she would only let him. If only.

Wanting to feel closer to her and relish the peaceful solitude they were enveloped in, Rhett wrapped his arms around Scarlett's waist and rolled over onto his back, bringing her on top of him and kissing the top of her head.

"Scarlett, are you still awake?" he asked softly, running his hands down her back.

Scarlett moved her left hand up and placed it on his chest next to her face. "Yes," she whispered.

"'Scarlett, I'm leaving in the morning." It came out as a rush of breath and he waited with trepidation for her reaction.

"Why?" she asked tiredly.

His fingers wove through her hair and he was silent for a moment before replying, "I'm going to join the army. I decided earlier tonight before we got here, it's something I have to do."

Scarlett sighed into his chest, her fingers lightly brushing over his skin. "And what about me?"

Rhett's heart began to beat hard again at her words. Did this mean she cared? Could she love him? He didn't think it possible. Still, the way she had spoken them and the way she shifted slightly to better mold her body to his prompted him to voice his thoughts out loud: "I do love you, Scarlett, despite what I said that evening on your Aunt Pitty's porch."

He looked down and saw her close her eyes. "Please don't tease me, Rhett. Not tonight. Just hold me."

A pang of disappointment coursed through his veins at her reaction. She thought he was joking, but what did he expect? Still, he was more than happy to comply with her last words. At least she did not push him away. Instead he wrapped one arm around her back and continued to comb his fingers through her hair until his eyelids became too heavy. He drifted off to sleep with the intoxicating scent that was Scarlett, vowing that he would come back for her one day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone, I really would be interested in knowing if people actually like this story, because the hit counter says you're reading it. I'm not a comment whore but basically no feedbackno updates. So it's up to you, or else I'll just post it elsewhere. shrugs**

**Also, happy birthday to Scarlett O'Hara herself. Vivien Leigh would be 93 today. I'm sad she's dead, there's really not anyone like her these days.**

The first faint rays of sunlight were filtering through the dilapidated drapes of the bedroom window when Rhett was roused from his sleep. In his groggy state of mind he was at first confused with his surroundings, and by the strange weight on his chest. But the events of the past night came rushing back swiftly when he looked down and saw Scarlett's serene sleeping face nestled in the juncture of his shoulder and neck, and her arm draped over his torso.

"God," he whispered, the sound barely making its way into the room. How could he leave her? Why had he decided to go join the army in the first place? His initial thoughts on the matter could not be found in the recesses of his memory, but he knew he had made the choice and therefore had to honor it. Yet this moment in the twilight between darkness and sunrise was something Rhett wanted to keep with him, for he knew perfectly well that this could be the last time he ever laid eyes on Scarlett O'Hara. She did not stir when he moved to better face her and so he lay there next to her, drinking in her features, committing them to memory, and with a feather-light touch, he ran the tips of his fingers down her shoulder and around to her back, leaning in slightly to brush his lips against hers. At was this movement that caused Scarlett to fidget in her sleep and a muffled moan escaped her lips, signaling to Rhett that she could potentially wake any moment, and also his time for departure.

Ever so carefully, he rolled to his back and took Scarlett's left hand in his, dislodging it from his side, and then, making as little noise as possible, he slipped out of the soft bed and began gathering his clothing on the floor. I did not take him long to dress, and when he had finished, he surveyed the room once more before locking his eyes on Scarlett, much as he had the previous night when he had wandered into her room via the light of the moon. This time, he cut his adulation short for he knew he must take his leave before anyone else woke up, and with one last glance at the woman he knew he would not easily be able to forget, he turned and walked out of the room, making sure to creep lightly down the stairs in order to remain unseen.

Outside the predawn air was a bit chilly despite it being the middle of summer, but he breathed in deeply in order to help clear his mind. If there was any guilt about the events that took place during the night, he refused to let it get to him. At the present moment, he knew he had to focus on what to do next and how to go about doing it. He had heard from sources before they fled the city the night before that Sherman's troops were dangerously close to Atlanta and he knew the Confederate forces could not hold the city. They would be falling back toward Savannah, he knew this; it was only a matter of days. But he had heard another bit of information, courtesy of being acquainted with disreputable people, that General Hood's army was on the march north toward Tennessee. If he was lucky, he may find them on the road not far from Tara, and surely, despite his late entrance into the Army, they would not turn him down; not with his artillery skills and West Point credentials. So it was decided, then.

Rhett stopped in the drive for a moment to check his remaining pistol (Scarlett was left in possession of the other one) and make sure it was loaded. It would do no good to face a straggler of any kind in the woods without ammunition, he decided. Then, snapping the barrel back into the body of his gun, he continued. As he rounded the turn at the rock and fence where, unbeknownst to him, Scarlett used to wait for her Pa to come home form Twelve Oaks when she was small, he took one last look at the white façade of the once gallant plantation house. Scarlett would survive, he reasoned. She could do anything she set her mind to and that was one of the reasons he cared for her so much. Though he had not admitted to himself that he loved her, to walk away as he was doing was not as easy as he thought it would have been. Finally, with a seeming great effort, he drew his eyes from the house and turned the bend to the main road, leaving Scarlett behind him and allowing the blazing red sun of that August morning guide his path down the crimson road to face whatever was in store for him.

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Scarlett felt the pressure of a hand shaking her shoulder. In the flimsy dreamland between light sleep and awakening, she thought it was Rhett, and she buried her face into her pillow. When a voice accompanied the movement, Scarlett's eyes slowly opened and she saw her mammy leaning over her, telling her she must awaken for there was much to do that day. Coming to attention, she glanced to her side and noticed that Rhett was gone, leaving only rumpled sheets and a fading imprint on the pillow next to her as a sign he had ever been there. A sudden panic washed over her as she remembered what had happened a few hours before, and she bit her lip to stifle a rising scream of frustration and disgust. However, she checked herself so as not to let Mammy see her inner dilemma.

"Mammy," She asked tiredly, "is Mr. Rhett still here?"

"No, child. He ain't sleep in dat bed Ah made up fo' him last night either."

Fearing that Mammy would sense something was amiss in this situation, Scarlett thought of a flimsy lie, and with her eyes focused on the bed sheets she muttered, "He must have fallen asleep in the chair in Ma's office and left before morning." He was a bastard for leaving as he did, she thought to herself, but she refused to think about it now. What was done was done and she couldn't take it back; she didn't even want to think about it. More pressing matters were on her mind.

Mammy helped her dress into the same calicoes she was wearing when she arrived home last night. After a scarce breakfast—how could she survive on such little food?—Scarlett decided that her first chore would be to survey the damage done to the house and the property. Then she would check on her sisters to see how, or if they were recovering from their sickness, and then…then they would have to bury her mother. The thought of Ellen's starch white face, laying covered in a black shroud by the fire the night before, Scarlett felt sick to her stomach and she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat so that her tears would not show.

Outside the sun was making its way higher into the sky as Scarlett trudged down the porch stairs. In front of her she could see the sparse patches of dead grass which had once been the luscious green front lawn, and in the dirt at her feet she saw a pair of boot footprints. They could have been any Yankee's, or perhaps her father's, but for a moment she envisioned Rhett as he must have been earlier that morning, walking away to war, and she briefly wondered if she might find him on the road if she dared to follow the trail. Quickly she shook her head in order to snap out of that thought. Of course she wouldn't follow him, and she did not want to think of him at all; not of him rescuing her, not of his voice soothing her in the night, not of him touching her bare skin. No! Her mind shouted, she could not think of that right now.

Slowly she made her way around to the back of the house, noting in her mind the vast expanse of burnt land that would have to be replanted and replenished, the many broken and boarded windows that would need new panes before winter, the slave quarters that would have to be rebuilt if they ever intended to operate a working plantation again, and most of all, the general change that had settled over the once vibrant house. This was the place she had been born and raised in and it saddened her beyond belief that something her father had so loved and urged her to cherish as well looked so aged and damaged. She would fix it; she just had to! But how she would manage to do that seemed like reaching for the sky. They had no money, only the bonds her father had told her he saved the night before. Ad what good were Confederate bonds to anyone these days?

She did not know how long she stood there, out in the middle of what was once a vegetable garden, but as the sun rose higher and she began to sweat in the heat, she knew she needed to move forward. She would round up the remaining servants, and when her sisters were well again, they would help too. They would work the fields; do whatever they could to bring in some sort of income. It was the only way they would get by, she reasoned. They would start tomorrow.

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It was late afternoon when the neighbors started to arrive for Ellen O'Hara's funeral. The heat was stagnant and the katydids were humming in the swamp bottom, the crisp leaves that had already began to fall from the trees in the first signs of Autumn blew at the feet of the pallbearers as they carried the crude oak coffin down the front porch and out to the cemetery. There was Mrs. Tarleton, Cathleen Calvert, the Wilkes sisters, all of the people from the county who were not off at war and could make the journey turned up to pay their respects to Scarlett's mother.

Scarlett herself stood with her arm through Gerald's by the foot of the open grave. Suellen and Careen were still in bed, too weak to make it down stairs. It is better this way, she thought. She could barely stand the tears from the guests and did not think she could handle hysterics from her sisters. They could not get a priest from Jonesborough, and so one of the neighbors agreed to read the sermon. It pained her that this was the best they could do for a woman who had meant so much for so many, and who had always been so elegant in her ways. As the sermon was read, she felt her father shiver and she looked up to see his face in profile as tears poured from his pale blue eyes and Scarlett felt a great wave of sadness wash over her at the thought that despite her father's delusion, he somehow knew that this was real and that he would never see his wife again. Laying her tired head on Gerald's shoulder, Scarlett wished she could take away his pain if only for a little while. It was the first unselfish thought she had had in a long time, though she did not realize it.

When the service was over and the fresh mound of dirt had been placed over the grave and the guests had gone back in the night to where they had come from, Scarlett finally made her way up the stairs to her room. She did not feel like eating anything, and though she was hungry, she dismissed the feeling. As soon as she was undressed, she collapsed on the bed and finally let her emotions run free. As she sobbed into her pillow, she thought of her mother, but Ellen was not the frontrunner in her thoughts. It was Rhett. How she hated him for leaving her as he did. She could have used his support at the funeral as he had supported her the night before. She cried harder at the revulsion boiling in her for being so wanton and loose with him. She felt like a whore, and he probably thought her so. But contending with her anger was the memory of how his hands felt on her, how she had melted under his kisses and how he had cradled her in his arms and told her he loved her. How could he have said that and then left…without even saying goodbye? She squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her teeth on the fabric of her pillow, letting out a muffled sob. When she had cried away all of her energy and sleep began to take over, the last thought that entered Scarlett's mind was that no one must ever know what had transpired between she and Rhett, and she prayed she was not with child. If it was hatred that kept thoughts of Rhett at bay, then hate him she would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry MW, I lied (oops, ha ha), new stuff is in the NEXT chapter. But I'm working on it** . ** PS, yes, i like the song on your myspace and YESSSSS, Exit Music (for a film) is one of my fave songs, and it was awesome live, as was Fake Plastic Trees...and Airbag...and every song they played.**

A month had passed since Scarlett's return to Tara and in that time so much had changed in her life that she felt like a new person entirely; whether it was for the better or not was yet to be seen. Her sisters had slowly recovered from typhoid, and though they were still weak, their services were needed out in the fields just like her own and everyone else's. To say that working at Tara was a struggle was an understatement. The days were long and hot, and without a full force of field hands to pick the scant cotton that hadn't been burned, Scarlett manually picked it herself. Every evening she came back to the house with her back aching so badly that she didn't think she could stand it another minute. It did not help that Suellen and Careen, her father, Pork and even Mammy complained about having to work in the fields when they had not been brought up to do so. The only person who did not complain was Melanie. She was still too weak to do much work, but Scarlett was at least grateful that she helped out with what she could. Melanie had a value that she could not seem to find in anyone else sometimes precisely because she was obedient. Could they not see that they had to work for themselves if they wanted to get by? There was not enough food for everyone to have enough to fill their stomachs, and Scarlett often found little Wade huddled by the banister on the bottom step of the staircase, watching her with wide, aching eyes, and so she often gave him her share of food to keep him from going hungry.

The main thing that had changed in Scarlett, though she may not have recognized it, was her attitude. She was still proper when she had to be and she had not lost her spunk, but the fire had gone out of her eyes and she became defensive quite easily. She was no longer a girl, carefree as she had once been. Now she was a woman in every sense of the word. She did not have time to notice the hurt looks those close to her sometimes bestowed upon her after a wrathful string of words had escaped her lips. She was too consumed with getting things done throughout the day to worry about people's feelings, and it was not because she did not care, but because she was afraid that if anyone saw the timidity underneath the thick layer of skin she had developed, the carefully nurtured bravery she was putting on would fall away and she would not be able to deal with it. She was the leader at Tara now; everyone depended on her, and she did what must be done.

It was on a Sunday afternoon in the middle of September when an unexpected visitor rode up to the front steps of Tara. Scarlett had just come in through the kitchen, carrying blankets and bed sheets that needed to be washed when she heard the sound of hoof beats on the hard dirt out front. Not knowing whether this stranger was friend or foe, she skeptically made her way to the front of the house, careful not to make too much noise lest she need to flee to find a weapon of defense. What she saw was a man in a tattered gray uniform riding what looked like a healthy brown mare. It was a Confederate soldier. Hopefully he did not want food or lodgings, she thought as she went out onto the porch to him.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said in a scraggly voice as he tipped his torn felt hat toward her.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I hope so," he smiled kindly. "Are you Miss O'Hara?"

"Yes," Scarlett replied, a bit hesitant to reveal such information. She watched as he reached into his saddle bag and produced an envelope, holding it out to her.

"For you, ma'am."

Confusedly, she stepped forward and took the letter in her hand, turning it over and looking at the writing on the back. She knew it was from Rhett the minute she saw the large, bold letters that spelled out her name, even though it had no return address. How was he able to get a letter here through the post in times like these, she wondered. Looking back up at the man on his horse, she felt a bit awkward and wondered briefly if she should give him some sort of money for his troubles; he looked as if he had come a long way. But the man gave her no time to think it over; with another tip of his hat he turned his horse and walked back down the drive, leaving small clouds of dust where the horse's hooves met the dry ground.

As she made her way up the stairs to her room a few minutes later, Scarlett's curiosity about the letter in her hands became nearly overwhelming. Though she had not had time to think of Rhett much since the night of her mother's funeral, she had not forgotten him entirely. She was still angry at him for leaving in the first place in such a discreet manner, as if he had not cared about her at all. But in the back of her mind an image of his face, with his jet black hair falling in his eyes and his teasing smile, appeared as clear as day, making her heart beat just a little faster than normal, and she wondered where he was. She shook the memory off as quickly as it had appeared. What on earth could he possibly have to say to her in a letter that would be of any importance?

When she reached her room, the last afternoon sun was pouring through the open shutters and she could see the tiny dust particles floating idly in the beam of light. Her footsteps seemed loud on the wooden floor, and she turned to make sure no one was in the hallway before she made her way to the small desk in the corner of the room. The drawer scraped along the wood sidings as she opened it and she reached inside and pulled out a silver letter opener. How the Yankees had not found this when they set up camp at Tara was unknown to her. Moving back over to the bed, she carefully inserted the knife-like object into the paper and opened the envelope, pulling out the letter inside and unfolding it. She felt guilty for being up here alone when there was still things to be done and the rest of her family was outside in the sun. But didn't she deserve a break once in a while too? She did more work than everyone else, she reasoned, and this would not take long. The sun felt warm on her face, and she pushed back a stray lock of hair before beginning to read.

August 30

_Dear Scarlett,_

She rolled her eyes at the address of her first name. Of course he didn't have the decency to call her by her formal name, Mrs. Hamilton, but she read on.

_Has it already been nearly a month since that night we fled Atlanta? I suppose it has though it hardly seems like it. If I know you as well as I think I do—and Scarlett, I do know you more than perhaps you're willing to admit—I should venture to guess that you weren't expecting this letter. It is with the best of intentions, honest intentions, that I write this. I will tell you directly, and though it may be contrary to what you have been thinking, I have not forgotten you, and I hope you are well though I am aware of the circumstances under which I left that morning. I want you to know that I would not have left had I not thought you could take care of yourself._

_At this time I am writing you from Dalton. I had thought, and my assumptions turned out to be correct, that I would meet the army on the road north. I felt rightfully out of place in a tailored suit when they had nothing but the worn clothes on their backs. I think you would have laughed had you seen it, for if my memory serves correctly you take humor in the most discomfited situations. General Hood let me in without many questions once I told him of my days at West Point, not that they would have rejected any able bodied man of any age at that point, I'm sure. The plan is to march to Tennessee, and if I had a horse, or could steal one, believe me I would. My choice of footwear was not the best and I haven't had time or the resources to procure a new pair of boots at the present time, and it is a rather long walk._

_Though I am sure you would just be delighted at more information of a soldier's life, I suppose I should get to the point. I have enclosed the address of my lawyer in Savannah and I want you to write to him should you find yourself in a certain situation. I trust you know what am referring to as I know I have not forgotten that night…_

Scarlett's eyes abruptly left the piece of paper in her hands after reading those last sentences. A sudden cold sweat washed over her despite the heat in the room and one hand flew to her mouth as if to stop the breath from coming out louder than she meant it to. As her mouth became dry and her heart hammered in her chest, Rhett's words ran through her mind once more. If she was pregnant…she had not given thought to the matter since the morning she woke up to find him gone from her bed, and now she was bathed in panic at the thought of it being a possibly reality. It was too soon to tell, she quickly reassured herself; it was quite possible that she was not, but if she were, what then? She would never be able to look her father or Mammy or anyone in the face again because of the burning shame she now felt over her actions with Rhett. It was something she did not want to acknowledge but she knew she could not let it slip from her mind again until she was sure it was not true. Damn Rhett for reminding her and for being so crass with his words. But she hated herself for being so careless and absent-minded.

She did not know how long she sat there in a state of sheer guilt and panic but she was brought to sudden attention by the voices of her father and sisters outside. Turning her head to the window she noticed the sun was lower in the sky, signaling the end of the work day and the gathering of her family for supper. She quickly composed herself, not wanting to give away any hint of something being out of place with her demeanor, before picking the letter off of the bed and walking back over to the desk. When winter came and it got cold enough to build a fire in the fireplace, she decided she would burn it. Until then, it would go in the drawer with the letter opener; shut away from the world, as if she had never received it in the first place.


End file.
